Music is Night of the Damned by Peter Gundry. I find that it suits Grand Seer Fabienne for some reason, so play it!

******

"And what is that supposed to mean?" demands Sir Kendrick, tone impatient.

"It means everything. In the old times, everything was done by blood—making pacts, sealing them, breaking them." Grand Seer Fabienne doesn't lift her eyes away from me. I fight to remain calm, breathing in and out, controlling the increasingly erratic rhythm of my heart. "This prophecy had been started by blood. Now it will end by blood."

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow. What exactly are the contents of this prophecy?"

"Don't you know the contents of the Song of Prophecy? They're similar, save for the fact that one is written in the Ancient Cambirian language, while the other in modern Perinian."

Sir Kendrick swallows a groan and rubs a tired hand over his face. "It has been centuries since Cambiria fell. No one speaks the language now."

"True, true."

The Bane's eyes flash with anger. "So you're telling me that although you don't know the contents of the Far'hellan Prophecy, you dare to question the Manuscript?"

"It's the Prophecy of Far'hellan," Grand Seer Fabienne corrects coolly. "And I only pass on the word of my ancestors, who all had received theirs from Pst. Zorah herself. Our bloodline has been charged with overwatching the prophecy, nothing more. Everybody of our clan—except for one, who will be in the centre of it all."

"The Deathslayer," I whisper.

Everyone abruptly looks at me. I purse my lips together, mentally chiding myself for allowing that to slip. I take in a deep breath and feign ignorance, praying that I don't raise any suspicions.

"Ah, the long lost son, finally returning home." I lift my chin at the obvious taunt, refusing to show any weakness. "Out of curiosity, I must ask why you've come here, after not seeing us at all for all your life. I should think that your father does not approve of us."

"He doesn't," I say bluntly. She already knows the truth. No use glossing over facts. "But I came here because I thought I may be of some use."

As the words spill out of my mouth, I myself begin to wonder what I'm doing here. Simply because I'm half a Lorelay? What could I contribute with that? I'm a Champion, true, but that's simply not relevant in these parts. They're so far removed from everyone that the outside world hardly matters to them. So long as they pay their taxes and we leave them alone, they're contented.

So...why did I come here?

"Mmph. Anyway, how did you come to know of the Deathslayer?" continues Grand Seer Fabienne.

"My mother. She told me tales of Miraterciel."

I feel the confused gazes on me slowly getting more intense. "Ah, Marcella. Strange thing is, we usually do not divulge this information to outside ears, even to someone with a bit of Lorelay blood in them. Only those who are fully ours know of this—until now, it seems."

I refuse to say anything, to be goaded into letting something else slip.

"There is one other exception..." The Grand Seer pulls out a chair and slowly sinks into it. "If the halfling is of the Deathslayer's bloodline, then she can be told of her inheritance."

A small gasp escapes Gilbert's lips. I sense him edging closer to me—to protect me from what, I don't know.

"Of course, Marcella was never particular good at keeping secrets," suggests Grand Seer Fabienne.

"No," I say, almost too eager to jump at the exit she has given me. "No, she isn't," I emphasise, a little more careful this time.

A curious light gleams in her eyes.

"Now that family reunions are over, can we talk more about what this...Deathslayer does?" says Sir Kendrick.

"You already know what she does. She saved all of you a little over twenty years ago."

A heavy pause lingers in the air. "Kendra the sorceress? It can't be, yet—"

"Yet it would make so much sense? Why would you say that, my Bane?"

"Her uncanny ability to put the dead to rest—I'd never seen anyone with that power before, nor ever." Sir Kendrick closes his eyes, brows scrunched together, as though he's reminiscing deep into the past. "Of course, that was why she was able to gather all of us—she knew. She was Lorelay, so she knew, somehow. I remember her telling us that all of us were vital..."

Grand Seer Fabienne tilts her head, absently trailing the map with her fingers. "Does that answer your question?"

"So a Deathslayer can kill ghosts," mutters Sir Kendrick. Understanding crosses his expression. "That's it! We need the Deathslayer to return, help us counter this infection!"

Grand Seer Fabienne inclines her head, but her eyes are laughing, I can tell.

I hope I don't faint anytime soon. This conversation is getting far too close for comfort.

"Where can we find her?" cries Sir Kendrick, suddenly eager.

"Not so fast, dear Bane. There's no guarantee that she will be able to deal with the infection single-handedly. Besides"—a twinkle in the shape of her lips—"she might be closer than you think."

If only I can rip her tongue out here and now, get rid of the potential threat she poses. Damn the consequences! If she announces my identity to the whole world, then my fate would be worse than death—

So why don't you do it? a voice caresses my mind.

I shiver. At the same time, the words invoke a primal instinct within me—the instinct of self-preservation. What would Sir Kendrick and the others do if I kill her anyway? I'm their Champion. They need me to fight. I'm indispensable. Grand Seer Fabienne isn't.

My hand twitches. It lifts with urge coursing through it—

Constantine, remember, control, Abner's voice booms in my head.

Shock ripples in me. I regain my senses, retracting my slightly extended hand and trying to pretend as though I weren't actually contemplating the murder of the Lorelay clan's leader.

"Are you all right?" A warm breath tickles my ear. I don't need to move to know that it's Gilbert. I hadn't even realised that he's right beside me, being too absorbed in the fear of being exposed. I manage a small, curt nod.

He doesn't question me any further, though I sense suspicion filtering off him.

"So this prophecy...I don't understand. We have two Champions of War here." Sir Kendrick gestures towards Gilbert and me, apparently oblivious to my tight expression. "Apparently they can control all things, whether living or inanimate. Why do we still need a Deathslayer?"

"You may already have the answer to that. Besides, that, I'm afraid, is a tale for another day." Grand Seer Fabienne climbs onto her feet. A muscle feathers in Sir Kendrick's jaw. He looks like he's about to explode.

Without paying any heed to the Bane's boiling temper, the Grand Seer sashays towards the exit. She pulls a door open. "Rest. You've had a long journey."

"If the infection has something to do with the prophecy, I have to know how to stop it," growls Sir Kendrick. "I'm not leaving this room till I found out how."

Grand Seer Fabienne wheels around, still pulling the door open. All humour has evaporated from her countenance. Only steel is left—befitting for a leader. "The Prophecy of Far'hellan was never meant to be thwarted. If you do, you will only bring ill fortune upon yourself. Consider this a first warning, Sir Kendrick."

There is undeniable authority behind her tone. It speaks of unshakeable mountains, of stone statues that must be bowed down to. Sir Kendrick clenches his jaw. He knows defeat when he sees it.

He grudgingly leaves the room, cloak fluttering behind him. His boots storm angrily against the floor. The rest of us follow meekly.

I'm the last to pass through the door. Just as I'm about to catch up to Gilbert, a touch on my elbow stalls me. I don't crane my head to see who it is.

"Meet me at midnight, near the northern well," Grand Seer Fabienne hisses in my ear.

"How do you know I'll be there?" I reply.

"Because I know you. Now go."

Without a single moment of hesitation, I continue to walk. The chill of the night sinks into my bones, but I welcome it. Better that than the chill of necromancy, which reeks of death.

Then I realise something: I hadn't felt that necromantic chill throughout the whole conversation in the room.

I realise something else: Sir Isaac hadn't been in that room with us.

******

"Have you seen Sir Isaac?" I ask Gilbert when the rest retire for the night. We'd agreed to meet half a bell after the eleventh hour, near the northern well. He hadn't questioned my motives for this sudden meeting. Perhaps he trusts that I have an urgent enough matter to be discussed.

And urgent it is.

A frown scrunches Gilbert's face. "I can't say I have..." he says uncertainly.

"That's exactly the problem." I take in a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. I've been keeping everything to myself till now. He deserves a right to know what I do.

So I tell him everything: about Abner's growing trepidation inside me; about my abilities, my mind going blank whenever I enter a fight; about the aura of death Sir Isaac emanates; about what Grand Seer Fabienne had said to me before we'd left the room.

"Erilda...She'd told me about the theory of our evolving abilities," says Gilbert, a thoughtful note in his voice.

"Why didn't you mention this to me before?" I demand, suddenly overcome with irritancy. I'm not the only one keeping secrets, it seems.

"I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. It's what I've wanted to tell you ever since that duel back in Castle Larstand." Gilberts sounds exasperated. "No opportune moment has presented itself. It was just travelling, wading through snow. Then you know what happened halfway..."

Grudgingly, I give a nod. I fold my arms, adoptive a defensive stance. "I understand."

"Anyway, there's the matter of Sir Isaac," Gilbert resumes, good nature restored.

"You think he has something to do with...this?" An image of the crotchety old knight flashes in my mind. Although I do enjoy my position as apprentice to Captain Eldric, there are times where I anticipate the moment where he shrieks abruptly in my ear. Sometimes, I still look for him in the corner of the room, as though he were lingering there, watching me, ready to snap if I made a single mistake. But then I would remember that he's not my trainer anymore, and a lingering sense of—is it longing? Whatever it is, I would feel a twang in my heart.

I do miss him. I really do. I miss the days when I'd been under his tutelage.

So if he has anything to do with the Prophecy of Far'hellan—if he has anything to do with this infection, I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with the situation.

Abner stirs inside me, reacting to my conflicting emotions.

I know what he would want me to do. I just don't know if I can bring myself to do it.

"From how you've described the powerful chills you get when near him, I don't think it's mere coincidence." Gilbert paces around the area, his boots shuffling against the grass. He's probably as silent as a cat to normal ears, but to me, he's making a terrible racket—loud enough to warrant attention from any light sleepers. I gently touch his arm to stop him. We have scoured the place before, making sure that there were no eavesdroppers. Still, we can't be too careful.

"What if it is?" I ask.

The corner of Gilbert's lips quirk up in a cynical half-smile. "After all this, do you really still believe in coincidences?"

An excellent question. But I won't relent so easily. I shrug my shoulders. "We have to keep our options open."

"Agreed. Which is why we can't eliminate the possibility that Sir Isaac is the root cause of this infection."

The blood in my veins turn into ice. "What do you mean?" I hear myself speaking, but I'm hardly aware of my words.

"I mean exactly what I said."

I glare at Gilbert. His gaze doesn't waver, amber eyes shining steadily under the moonlight.

"How can he even do this? He's not a necromancer! He—" I cut myself off when my voice slowly grows louder. Inhale. Exhale. My heartbeat goes back to a normal pulse. "He wasn't even there when you encountered the first batch of the possessed."

Gilbert throws his hands up in the air. "I'm just saying," he argues gently. "I don't know how to explain all this. I'm just offering a possible solution."

Silence wedges itself between us. Despite the fact that I know Gilbert's words are true, I can't help but feel a fire building inside me. It's buried somewhere deep inside me, only lending me a few threads of its power whenever I summon it. Yet right now, I feel it rising closer to the surface, ready to unleash its strength and raze the world—

Constantine!

I recoil with a jolt, snapping into myself. A shiver snakes down my spine. I feel my hands trembling; I fold my arms over my chest again, attempting to hide my weakness.

This is the second time tonight that you've lost control, Abner whispers. He isn't accusing, or angry; just kind.

What's happening to me?

This entire land is a powerful focal place of magic. The raw energy within the earth must be triggering reactions from your latent abilities.

I shouldn't be here. The unsettled churning in my stomach when I'd first entered the meeting room returns. I can't be here.

Yes you can, Abner encourages fiercely. Take this as training to control yourself. Trust your instincts.

He's been saying that a lot lately. I wonder if the Pietists are trying to tell me something through him. What if I lose control? Most of my anxiety has dissipated, but a small stone of trepidation has lodged itself in my mind. I can't afford to lose control. I will die.

Then don't lose control, Abner chides. He gives a snort. Simple.

Simple in theory. Difficult in practice.

Only if you think so.

That sounds more like the sarcastic Abner I know. For some reason, I feel comforted by this. Strange, how sarcasm is more welcome than the faint trace of fear I detect, rippling underneath all his bravado. I can ignore it most of the time, thankfully.

"Constantine?" Gilbert calls me, tentative. My attention returns to him. "Are you...all right?"

In those few words, I hear all the unspoken questions on the tip of his tongue. Why are you spacing out so much lately? Why do I sense fear on you? How can I help?

"It's...nothing. My Champion abilities reacting. That's all." I manage a reassuring grin. "You do know that I have to learn how to control them, right?"

"Yes, I do," Gilbert agrees. But the glint in his eyes tells me that he's aware of my half-truth.

"So, Grand Seer Fabienne," I say, switching the topic. "Why do you think she wants to meet me?"

"It sounds like she knows who you are," he replies. "Perhaps she wants to talk to you as a Dea—" I narrow my eyes at him. He quickly lowers his voice: "As a Deathslayer."

"Perhaps."

"What do you think of her?"

Dark brown eyes, a little too much like my mother's; a regal posture, as if she could shake worlds; a hint of cruelness in the curve of her soft lips. A viper. That's what she is. I don't care if she's my great-grandmother—she's a viper, and that's the truth.

I don't say all that out loud though. I just say, "She's dangerous. A liability."

Gilbert raises a brow. "To you, maybe. She strikes me as someone who knows plenty. You just have to weed it out of her."

How in the Seven Hells did Gilbert ever get that impression of her? Even he sensed that she was subtly threatening me.

"And how do you suggest you weed that information out of her?" I grumble.

"You mean, how do you weed that information out of her," he corrects.

I squint at him. "You're not jesting, are you?"

"I'm dead serious," he snorts.

A veil of silence falls over us once more.

"Whoever put an idea into your mind?" I finally snarl. The idea of having to face the Grand Seer...somehow, I'd rather face Diomedes again.

Or not. At any rate, the Grand Seer is a close replacement for the Master of the Dead.

"Erilda," Gilbert answers. "She asked you to meet her. This is the chance for you to learn more about the Prophecy of Far'hellan—whatever it is. I've a feeling that she wants something from you anyway."

"So now even your guide is giving me orders." I don't hesitate to roll my eyes. "All right. Unfortunately, I'm not exactly a people-person. I'm not sure if I can make my interrogation sound like a conversation."

"Then don't make it an interrogation." His tone has gone low—dark. It doesn't sound like it belongs to a young man. No, it sounds like it belongs to a war veteran. It almost feels as though the Gilbert I've known all this while has been a mere shadow. "Pietists Above, haven't I taught you anything?"

"To be fair, you were gone for nearly a year," I snap. He doesn't have a right to lecture me. Not now, not ever. "Your 'lessons' had gone null during that absence. Besides"—I gesture towards myself, my movements fuelled by contained rage—"this is me. I can't help it."

I can't help it, but I can feel ashamed of it. Resentment suddenly builds in my throat. All those months, he'd been meeting people, improving his diplomatic skills, developing relationships...while I'd been stuck behind castle walls. I'd had my head buried in piles and piles of paperwork, only looking up from them to eat, sleep, piss, and occasionally file in reports or be reported to. He'd been growing into his abilities, been given the chances to test them; while I'd remained stagnant.

I could have done what he could have done. I know that I could have made Sir Kendrick favour me...but I didn't.

It's undeniable—I'm envious. And I hate this envy. I hate this feeling rooting itself deep within my soul, clouding my judgment. I hate myself for not being able to get rid of it.

How is it possible, to love and hate your best friend at the same time?

"I'm sorry."

I blink, eyes flicking upwards from the ground to look at Gilbert. The wind rustles against the earth, humming a mild tune, letting a wave of calm wash over me.

"I'm sorry," repeats Gilbert.

I bow my head. "I'm sorry too," I say. And I do feel sorry. The envy monster retreats into the dark recesses of my heart. Yet I can still feel it there—waiting, watching.

"I don't like arguing with you," he says.

"Me neither."

"Because somehow, you always make me apologise first."

I punch him playfully. He stumbles backwards, clutching his chest in faux agony. "I do not make you apologise first," I protest.

"Oh no, not directly. But the look you give—it demands for an apology. No way about it," he says cheerily.

I harrumph. Abner suppresses a chuckle.

"Back to the topic," I say, though there's still a hint of laughter on the curve of my mouth. "I talk with Grand Seer Fabienne, see what she wants from me, try to extract more information out of her. Is that it?"

Gilbert counts the points off his fingers. I roll my eyes. "I believe that's it." His teeth shine impossibly bright. No, this Gilbert—the cheery, optimistic Gilbert cannot be a shadow of his true self. He can't.

"Well then, that's settled. It must be almost time for the meeting now." I cast a glance at the shadows cast by the long-limbed trees. "Go now."

"And leave all the fun to you? I shan't be leaving."

"Gilbert, this is serious."

"I'm serious too. I'll find someplace to hide, watch you and Grand Seer Fabienne. Who knows what could happen?"

I stifle a sigh. "I think I can take care of myself very well, thank you."

"All right, I admit, it's more for my own interest than your safety. No offense intended."

"None taken."

Distant footsteps reach my ears. The soft fall of slippers against the ground, and the light singing of silk sweeping the grass. A lady.

"Go!" I hiss at Gilbert.

Gilbert must have heard it too. Before the word can fully form, he's already taken off, shooting into the shadows like a scuttling rabbit.

"Rutherland?" a self-assured, feminine voice chimes.

I wheel around, schooling my face into a relaxed, bored expression. Indeed, there's Grand Seer Fabienne, changed out of her evening dress. She now wears a simple riding gown, embroidered at the sleeves. But she's not alone.

There's a ghost beside her.

******

A/N: Sir Kendrick may or may not know something, the Grand Seer is nutty yet completely sane, and Constantine has lotsa problems with her abilities spiralling out of control. Oh yeah, and cliffhanger. My favourite thing to do! What do you make of all this, dear reader?

Side note, I most likely won't be around Wattpad for the entire week--scratch that, I most definitely won't be around Wattpad for the entire week. It's university orientation week coming up, and I'm gonna be kept up till 2 a.m. and forced to wake up at 5 a.m.. Wish me luck T.T